


You And I Will Always Be Back Then

by mellohirust



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, can i say 'ask to tag' or is that a tumblr only thing, except the character death was canon and in the past, hurt/comfort except it's less comfort and more 'fix yourself', idk how ao3 tags work o7, implied suicidal thoughts, no beta we die like smp!wilbur, they are brothers your honor but unfortunately blood doesnt mean anything unless it's spilled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29350971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellohirust/pseuds/mellohirust
Summary: “Tommy, listen to me,” He continued, lowering the volume of his voice. “There’s a price to pay when you cheat God. It all catches up to you, one way or another. You can run, and you can escape, but you still face a loss. Your legs still ache.”“Wil-”“This isn’t even the worst of it!” Wilbur cut him off, words spewing out of him before he thought about what impact they held. “But I’m going to be fine! Okay? I’ll be fine.”--You can die a thousand deaths, let fresh air fill your lungs and watch them deflate as many times as you'd like, but it doesn't shred the history books. How long can you turn a blind eye from the truth when the truth is staring you in the face?
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	You And I Will Always Be Back Then

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is based on Wilbur's revival, which will be soon, and a headcanon I have! The headcanon is that Wilbur's hands will be a bit burnt up, due to the thing that was meant to cause his death. Blowing up L'manberg is when he really crossed the line. Think of it as karma from the afterlife. The abdomen scar, of course, would also be there.
> 
> I also understand that the family dynamic isn't (fully) canon. Unfortunately, I don't care! They are brothers, your honor!
> 
> In case you didn't read the tags I suggest that you do! They contain info about the work that may be triggering. This work has no beta!
> 
> Twitter: @MELLOHiRUST  
> Tumblr: @mellohi-rust
> 
> For Boo, out of spite. <3

“So, what did you want to show me?”

“Everything, Wilbur. Everything.”

Tommy never thought that he’d really get this chance. His brother, once again, by his side. It was just like many months ago. He seemed much happier. Full of life. Free. Tired, and a bit reluctant to his resurrection, but he seemed okay. He was smiling. For the first time in months, Wilbur was smiling, and for good reasons. The air had reached his lungs again, and he liked the way it felt. The sun beamed on his skin again, and he enjoyed the way it illuminated his surroundings. The wind was gentle, and he liked the way it made the plants sway. The sky was full of scattered clouds, and they painted stories for everyone to tell. The snow crunched beneath his feet, and the ponds were frozen over. It was a rather beautiful day. If Wilbur had to complain, his only complaint would be that it was rather chilly.

Without warning, Tommy grabbed his hand in his own, squeezing it tightly but not causing him any pain. It took him by surprise, but he found he didn’t mind it. Wilbur felt Tommy tugging him, the two’s pairs of legs taking control and leading them away from where they were. Tommy let out a chuckle, causing the smile on Wilbur’s face to become larger than before. He didn’t miss much about life, but this was one of them.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going first?” Wilbur called out, trying to take in as much as he could as he breezed past it. It had been a while, and things had changed so much since he had last been there. It was barely recognizable, and as scary as that was, it was comforting. This was almost like a new start, wasn’t it?

“I wanna show you something!” Tommy called back, still taking the lead, eager to get to his destination. “It’s a surprise!”

“Should I close my eyes?”

“I’d say yes, but your dumb ass would trip.”

“Would not!”

Tommy shook his head, containing his laughter as he tried his best to make sure Wilbur didn’t fall behind or trip behind him. His hand still gripped onto his, a refusal to let go. It was almost as if he was afraid to, as much as he hated to admit that fact. Almost. He wasn’t going to let himself lose Wilbur again. They found themselves on the prime path, the sound of their footsteps hitting the planks being the best thing in the world. Tommy had missed hearing the sound of Wilbur’s, so familiar yet something that seemed unreal for a moment.

“Can I get a hint?” Wilbur asked, curiosity not leaving his mind for a second as serotonin pumped through him for what felt like the first time all over again.

“Nope!” Tommy cackled.

“Fuck you.”

“Come on! We’re almost there!”

There was so much Wilbur didn’t recognize, and yet it seemed exactly the same. Broken things, fractured memories, shattered expectations mixed with a sense of hope and a sense of life. It was bittersweet in the way that made him sick but also filled him with adrenaline. He didn’t know if he loathed himself for the feeling or welcomed it with open arms.

What the hell was this red stuff? Was it worth worrying about, other than when speeding through what used to be L’manberg? He didn’t like it, not one bit. It felt like late, lonely nights in November. It felt like death was beckoning him once more, and it made his mind become empty yet it all felt like too much. He shook it off. That was a problem for another day.

Tommy finally led him to a large building that had stood out for a while now. It had to be relatively new, considering its surroundings were nothing but ruin. If L’manberg was brought down, if it was destroyed by hatred and grief, then this wouldn’t have survived the rage that came with it. The two came to a stop in front of it, Wilbur panting from the running as Tommy bounced eagerly.

“Here it is!” Tommy proudly announced, motioning towards a large sign that Wilbur hadn’t been able to read before. “The Big Innit Hotel!”

“Innit Hotel, you say?” Wilbur asked for confirmation. “You built this?”

“Hell yeah!” Tommy cheered, staring fondly at it. Sam Nook had spent ages on this, but he had collected the material. He had dealt with dangerous forces to keep it safe. He thought it was only fair to take the credit for it until an odd feeling made its way to the pit of his stomach. “Well, not alone, but you get the idea.”

Wilbur admired it for a while, Tommy by his side and eager to know the thoughts whirling in his mind. It was very well-built, better than anything he had ever created. It towered over everything, a beacon summoning everyone to its doors. He enjoyed the exterior, he had to admit, but he couldn’t believe Tommy had done it. He wondered who assisted him, and how much. He wondered how long it took. He’s been gone for too long, hasn’t he?

“I don’t buy it,” Wilbur teased. He really didn’t, but he reckoned a lot could change in a few months. “Dirt hut boy.”

“Shut up, Wilbur!” Tommy shot back, punching him lightly in the arm. Wilbur didn’t flinch.

“You’ve gotta admit, this isn’t exactly your house, big man,” Wilbur protested.  
“Well, yeah,” Tommy admitted. “But it’s cool, isn’t it?”

“It’s quite cool.”

The two turned to face each other, smiles on the faces of both of them.

“Hey, uh, speaking of your house, how is it?” Wilbur asked. “Surely, you don’t live in the hotel?”

“Oh, uh, it’s still in L’manberg,” Tommy replied. “Well, what remains of it.”

“Still dirt?”

“Still dirt.”

Wilbur giggles a little, ruffling Tommy’s hair around and causing him to back away out of his reach. As much as he seemed annoyed by the action, Wilbur knew deep down it was appreciated. That was enough for him. Wilbur still found himself smiling at the way Tommy reacted to it, after all this time. Where had the time gone? If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was many months ago. He could pretend it was summer, war on the brink but everyone in high spirits. Friends, laughter, a bright future in reach.

“You uh, probably don’t wanna stay there,” Tommy continued. “I’ve been, uh, a bit of a liability since you’ve been gone.”

“You? A liability?” Wilbur asked, pretending to be surprised. “I would’ve never guessed.”

“Oh, come on!” Tommy shouted. “I know I’m a bit reckless, I’m not perfect, but I’m not that bad!”

“How bad do they think you are?”

“Well, to put things into perspective, I think everyone has tried to kill me at least one.”

“You’re kidding? Even Tubbo?”

“Oh yeah,” Tommy’s face flushed a bit. “That one was my fault, though, in a way.”

“The fuck did you do?” Wilbur asked, incredulous.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m a changed man,” Tommy replied, looking back towards the hotel. “I don’t fight battles anymore. I don’t engage in conflict. I run this now. Tubbo and I got the discs back, and that’s enough war for a lifetime and two more.”

“I’m proud of you, Tommy,” Wilbur said, watching the smile on his face grow bigger. “It’s not like I’m any less of a liability than you are, though. I’m not exactly an innocent man.”

“It’s still not ideal, y'know? I mean, what about Pogtopia?”

Wilbur felt his stomach twist in a knot at the mention of the ghost town. It all flashed through his mind again, almost as if history was repeating itself. The tunnels. Those he had fought with, those he fought against. The nights he lied awake with nothing but his own thoughts. The darkness, the light, the cold. The party at the end of the world. The buttons that lined the wall. _Click. Boom._ His father by his side. Wings being blown to smithereens. Feathers layering the stone below. Crimson. Screaming. Ash. Smoke. Blinding light. The ringing in his ears. The way they all stared at him from a distance. A swift movement. The taste of metal and salt. Darkness. Light. Cold. The closing chapter, the final rhyming couplet of a song.

“Wilbur?” Tommy asked, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him gently as he waited for a response. “Wilbur!”

Wilbur snapped out of it, jumping a bit. “Uh, just forget about it, Tommy. It’s in the past now, alright?”

“Right.”

Wilbur felt his hand being grabbed by Tommy’s once more, the sound of footsteps filling the silence as the two continued on towards the dirt hut. This time their pace was slower, the two still recovering from running to the hotel. Wilbur found the red covering the ground becoming more and more evident. It didn’t seem to be going away. As much as he wanted to stay oblivious, curiosity and fear were getting the better of him.

“What’s all this red stuff?” He finally asked.

“It’s all gone to shit, Wilbur,” Tommy replied, looking at it now as the two walked. “Long story short, we can nuke it or something if it becomes too much.”

“You tell me I leave for a few months and you get _nukes_?”

“You mean to tell me you called that _leaving_?”

“Well, I can’t say that I stayed, now can I?”

Tommy stopped for a second, causing Wilbur to do the same. He turned to look at him, taken aback.

“You fucking died!” He cried out.

“But I came back,” Wilbur said sheepishly.

Tommy sighed, dragging him along again. He couldn’t help but be mad at him, just a little, but he didn’t blame him. Still, Wilbur was right. He was back, wasn’t he? It wasn’t enough. It was too late for it to be enough. He might as well settle for second best.

“You did come back,” Tommy admitted. “After I yelled at you.”

“You can’t blame me for not wanting to at first,” Wilbur sighed. “But I’m happy I did.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

The two were silent as they finally reached the dirt hut, the sign above it clearly stating it belonged to Tommy. Tommy let the doors fly open, the two entering it and Wilbur looking around the sorry excuse of a home.

“You really live here?” Wilbur asked, his voice quiet. “Still? All by yourself?”

“Yep,” Tommy confirmed. “Tubbo lives in Snowchester with Jack Manifold. Techno and Phil are somewhere out there, doing whatever. Not like I care, though.”

“How have they been doing, anyways?” Wilbur asked. “Were they okay after, uh… November?”

“I, uh, don’t really want to talk about them," Tommy admitted, stammering over his words. Wilbur started to dig in some of his chests, trying to open them as quietly as possible. Tommy quickly took notice. He forgot that Wilbur didn’t really have anything anymore. “What do you have on you?”

Wilbur hummed to himself. He backed away and stood up, digging in his pockets and flipping them out. He held empty hands out for Tommy to see, shrugging. Tommy stared at his hands closer, noticing something that he didn’t before.

“Wilbur, what’s wrong with your hands?” Tommy asked, looking at them.

“What?” Wilbur asked, watching Tommy approach him. Tommy held them into the light, staring at them. His eyes widened as his eyes glanced over his fingertips.

“Does it... hurt you?” Tommy asked, using his thumb to gently brush over them. They were pitch black at the very edges, and it made him feel ill. He couldn’t help but want an explanation on why this had happened. Did Dream hurt him? Did he hurt himself? Did the resurrection go wrong?

“Oh, this?” Wilbur asked, looking down at his own hands.

“What else?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt,” Wilbur replied, looking Tommy in the eyes as they both tore their gazes away from his hands. “I can barely feel them at all, actually.”

“What?” Tommy asked, his voice quiet as a lump started forming in his throat.

“Yep,” Wilbur confirmed. “You know when you build a snowman without wearing gloves so your fingers can mold the snow into the perfect shape, and they freeze from the cold, but you don’t notice it until you meet the warmth again? And how it’s hard to move your fingers again for a while, but it doesn’t hurt? It’s a bit like that, I’d say.”

“Wilbur, I-”

“You could slap my hands and I wouldn’t feel a single thing in the tips of my fingers!” Wilbur continued, the cheeriness in his voice seeping into Tommy’s mind and making a home there, everything seeming like some nightmare he could wake up from. His smile made him just as ill. “I’d barely feel it in my hands at all, actually.”

“So you can’t… you can’t feel touch?” Tommy asked for clarification, wishing with every bone in his body that it wasn’t true. He wanted nothing more than for him to say it wasn’t so.

“Exactly.”

“Are you okay?” Tommy asked, his heart sinking slowly but enough where it hurt.

“Oh, yeah,” Wilbur reassured, unphased. “That’s nothing, Tommy.”

“ _Nothing_?” Tommy asked. How could he call that nothing? He looked down at his hands again. His poor, melted fingers. Fragile, scraped up hands, that would never feel in the way that Tommy did. That would feel a presence, but unfamiliar. That would feel only as much as it could, and that wasn’t enough. “How can you call that nothing?”

“Tommy, I don’t care, it’s fine!” Wilbur reassured, pulling his hands away and holding them up a little. “Really, I’m good! I had it coming. I’ve had it coming for a long time now.”

Tommy remained speechless. How could it be shrugged off so easily? How could he laugh about it, even? He knew his brother wasn’t heartless. He knew he felt something. He had felt more than so many others have, in his own ways. He backed away a little bit, his heart pumping. Wilbur’s eyes widened, his smile quickly slipping down into worry.

“Tommy, listen to me,” He continued, lowering the volume of his voice. “There’s a price to pay when you cheat God. It all catches up to you, one way or another. You can run, and you can escape, but you still face a loss. Your legs still ache.”

“Wil-”

“This isn’t even the worst of it!” Wilbur cut him off, words spewing out of him before he thought about what impact they held. “But I’m going to be fine! Okay? I’ll be fine.”

“Wilbur,” Tommy managed to get out, taking a pause. He was rendered speechless. Wilbur was patient, his arms making their way back to his sides. Tommy swore the room was swaying, just a little. “Show me all of it. Show me everything.”

“Tommy, I don’t think-”

“Please,” Tommy begged. “Wilbur, listen to me you dumb fuck, just this once. I couldn’t help you with L’manberg, but I can help you now. Let me help you.”

“You’ve helped too much, Tommy,” Wilbur admitted. “More than I deserved.”

“Then why did things end the way they did?” Tommy asked. His body started quivering, but he tried his best to stand tall. He felt his eyes start to sting as his voice grew louder. “If I helped so much, why did you do all of this shit? Why did you become someone you weren’t? We used to be so happy, Wilbur! I thought we were going to have that again! I thought I got you back!”

“Then maybe, this will be a reality check!” Wilbur yelled.

In a moment, Wilbur revealed a scar across his abdomen, causing Tommy to gasp and for his hands to cover his mouth. Wilbur became unsteady, his eyebrows furrowing in anger as he gripped onto the sweater he had lifted up. He wanted to see it? He’d show him. It was about time that the two of them stopped pretending everything could go back to how they were. They weren’t young anymore. They weren’t naive. They weren’t innocent.

“Have you forgotten why I died?” Wilbur asked. “Do you know why I still ceased to exist, even after surviving that damn blast? I told Phil to kill me for a reason, Tommy. I didn’t die for a piece of land or because of it. L’manberg wasn’t all there was to me. I died because I’ve done all the good I’m capable of. Everything I’ve done will always be a part of who I am. I’m ruined! I’m stained! I missed air in my lungs, I missed creation and doing something big, and I missed you. I missed so much, Tommy, but I can’t have it for a reason! I made peace with that! I don’t need your sympathy! I don’t need your pity! I’d say I don’t need you, but we both know I’d just be kidding myself at that point.”

Tommy felt his cheeks become moist with what he knew were tears he’d been holding back for too long. He let his arms fall to his side again, still shaking like a frightened animal. And, still, he didn’t know if it was despair or anger. He wished a mix of the two had a clearer name. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

“I know you’re in there somewhere,” Tommy hissed, pointing at Wilbur’s ribs. “I know the Wilbur I remember is in there.”

“The Wilbur you remember is right here, Tommy!” Wilbur yelled in response at him. “You can wipe away my past all you want, but I’m stuck with it! Your friends are stuck with it! The ghost of your past is stuck with it! Phil is stuck with it! My past marks the face of the Earth. I’ve left my fingerprints. I’ve left my legacy. You can’t wipe it clean just because it spares your feelings!”

“So are you giving up?” Tommy asked him, taking a step closer. “Just like that?”

“I gave up months ago!” Wilbur laughed. “I gave up so long ago! Do you know why, Tommy? I’ll tell you why. Some things, some people, can’t be saved. They can’t be repaired. I’m long gone, Tommy! I’m gone! The sooner you learn this, the less it will hurt when you realize that I can’t do what you expect of me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said fuck you, Wilbur!” Tommy cried. “Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”

Tommy fell to his knees, Wilbur rushing to be by his side. Tommy wanted to shove him away. He wanted Wilbur to leave. A small part of him wanted him six feet in the ground once more, but he knew that was selfish of him. It was so, so selfish of him. Was he allowed to be selfish? Was he allowed to feel when it didn’t make sense? Was he allowed to have Wilbur comfort him, still, at the end of the day?

Wilbur wrapped his arms around Tommy, regret rising in him as he did so. He fell beside him, Tommy soon sobbing into his chest. He used one of his hands to rub his back, the way he had always done when they were young. He felt his clothes become soaked, not with his own blood but instead with his brother’s tears. He couldn’t tell which one he preferred, which he was supposed to. In the end, it only proved his point, didn’t it? He was an awful person.

“You can kill me again if you want,” Wilbur suggested, his voice cracking unexpectedly. “It won’t be hard, I won’t protest it if it’s what you want. You call the shots now.”

“No, I don’t want…” Tommy started, trailing off as his sentence was cut short by his own sobbing. He sniffled as he tried to get oxygen to flood into his lungs again. “I don’t know what I want. I still miss you when you’re right in front of me. Isn’t that stupid?”

“Not at all,” Wilbur smiled sadly, the laughter following it turning into hiccuping. Tommy felt a tear drop fall onto his head. “I miss me, too.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” Tommy weeped, his voice only slightly louder than a whisper. “But I know who I wish you were.”

“Can you tell me?” Wilbur asked, his voice just as quiet.

Tommy hesitated, but thought it was better to be transparent.

“I don’t want you to be perfect, Wilbur, I never did,” Tommy choked out, hyperventilating. Wilbur held him tighter, Tommy clinging onto him for dear life. Both of them closed their eyes, tears clouding their vision and no sight in front of either of them being bearable. “I just want you to be good enough. I know you can be good enough.”

“How can I be good enough if I’m not good at all?”

“There’s good in you, Wilbur,” Tommy muttered. He meant it. He didn’t know how much, but he meant it. If he was wrong, he didn’t want to be right. If he was wrong, he’d speak it into existence. “I want to see it again.”

“But that’s the past, Tommy, I can’t…” Wilbur’s voice fell silent. He didn’t know what else to say other than he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything. He never had freedom when he was alive, and a resurrection wasn’t a free pass to a clean slate.

“Potopia is the past, too,” Tommy replied. His chest burned, and it made him think of Wilbur’s fingers. It made him think of his abdomen. It made him think of the tears of his father that dampened the pavement Wilbur had fallen on. It made him think of the tears Wilbur shed. It made him think of the ones he shed that day, too. It made him think that things weren’t as different as he thought.

He didn’t know if that was comforting or scary, but it was a start if anything.

“Tommy, I want you to fix me,” Wilbur announced, causing Tommy to flinch. He was surprised he could hear him with the amount of sniffling he had been doing. “I want you to help me be better. I want you to show me how I can do it.”

“I can’t do that, Wilbur. We both know that.”

“Please.”

“I can’t!” Tommy started crying harder, Wilbur wishing he had never spoke. “You have to do this on your own this time! I can’t keep being your right hand if you’re going to shift the blame to me every time you take the fall! I can tend to your wounds, I can tell you when you fuck up, and that’s all I can do.”

“And I’ll listen! Tommy, please, just tell me-”

“Then listen now.”

Tommy pulled away, Wilbur releasing him from his clutch. He wiped away at his eyes, his hand becoming wet. There was snot on his face that he would have to deal with for now. He despised it. Carefully, he stood up, barely able to keep his balance as his legs tried to trip over each other. He stared into Wilbur’s eyes, something sparking in them that made Tommy just a little bit hopeful. It made him feel like a kid again.

“Is this something that you want?” Tommy asked him. “Or is it just something you feel like you need to do?”

Wilbur thought about it for a second, his eyes staring back into Tommy’s. They were full of passion and rage, and yet they didn’t sparkle. They didn’t shine. They were merely glossy and red. “I want this.”

“Will you prove it?”

“How?”

“Wilbur, when we started L’manberg, I wanted you to be proud of me,” Tommy began, his throat sore. “I still want you to be proud of me, I think. But, if I’m being honest? I want a brother that I’m proud to call my brother. I am proud of you, to a degree. Promise me that you won’t let me down again.”

Wilbur rose to his feet slowly, wishing he didn’t have to see the look that was on Tommy’s face. He wanted to die like a martyr, and he had truly thought he did. If he wasn’t some fucked up hero, what could he call himself?

“Promise me that you won’t be the bad guy again.”

Tommy held his hand out, steadying his arm, not breaking gaze. His expression was flat, yet Wilbur could see the worry he kept hidden. Wilbur looked down at his hand, comparing it to his own. It was just a hand. A careful, steady hand. Scraped, but a hand. Wilbur let his own meet it, taking it firmly and shaking it gently.

“I won’t be.”

“Look at me, Wilbur,” Tommy said, Wilbur’s head jolting upright. “Nothing is over yet. Your story isn’t over. Mine isn’t, either. L’manberg is gone, but your idea is still alive out there. Your idea was never yours, it was ours. It was all of ours. There’s still blood to be shed. There’s still battles to win. There’s still something to fight for. How much are you willing to give to redeem yourself? How much are you willing to lose?”

Wilbur felt his lips curl into a small, small smile, but it was wide enough.

“Everything, Tommy. Everything.”


End file.
